Captured
by TheExplosiveBubble
Summary: Sunday mornings just can't be peaceful for Musashi anymore, not with his high-maintenance, camera-bearing roommate. 30kisses @ LJ


"Captured"

_#2 – Snapshot_

Click.

Flash.

A sudden brightness stained the inside of Musashi's eyelids an uncomfortable shade of pink. That and an unrecognizable whirring noise invaded the early morning air as though it were the shrill voice of a female talk show host. A groan pushed out of him, and in an attempt to escape the unwanted light and noise, the man flipped himself onto his stomach and hid his face in his pillow.

Peace evaded him, however, as paper crinkled too close to his ear and warm air puffed against his neck. He released a louder groan and lifted his head only high enough to squint blearily.

Click.

Flash.

"What—" One of his hands shot out from under the covers, flailing blindly for the source of the light.

His fingers brushed something plastic, but another hand slapped his away.

"Hey, don't touch, Gen. You'll ruin the picture."

Kotaro. Of course.

The same whirring noise from before buzzed in the air, and as his eyesight began to adjust, Musashi tentatively looked about the room. The early morning sun drenched the room in a pale yellow glow, and as a summer breeze rattled the steel-framed window panes, he slowly shifted his groggy stare to the person standing before the open window. Twine had been strung up to which Kotaro was clipping developing polaroids.

A poorly suppressed smile blossomed on the other man's lips even as he averted Musashi's annoyed stare.

"Good morning, sunshine," he said as he slid one of the rectangular snapshots closer to another.

Musashi turned onto his side and groped for the alarm clock. Seeing the positions of its hands, he groaned yet again but forced himself to sit up. He cleared his throat and dragged a hand across his face to dispel whatever leftovers of sleep were still clinging to him.

"Kotaro?"

"Mmhmm?"

"You know what time it is?"

"Six-something, last I checked."

"Do you know what day it is?"

A pause. "Ah, Sunday." A mutter about losing track of the days followed.

Next up—patronizing. "Do I work on Sundays?"

"Why, no, Gen, I don't believe that you do," Kotaro snapped back in an equally condescending tone. Musashi could practically hear the slighter man rolling his eyes.

Musashi snorted, and his lip curled in preparation for a retort when he was blinded by yet another flash. He winced and blinked rapidly to clear his vision of the greenish blue orbs that now danced about the room.

"What the hell?"

Kotaro feigned a look of scholarly indifference as he shook another polaroid in his hand. "A fine specimen to portray the creature's anger. Now all the grandkids will know how much of a douche their grandpa was when he actually had to wake up."

Musashi leaned back on his arms, staring at Kotaro as incredulously as he could that early in the morning. "Is wanting to sleep in on my days off really too much to ask?"

Kotaro huffed and said nothing.

A few seconds into the staring contest, Musashi acquiesced to Kotaro's unspoken want and held a hand out for the other man. Fully dressed with camera still in hand, Kotaro allowed himself to be pulled down onto the bed beside Musashi. He sighed and buried his face into Musashi's chest.

"What are you doing anyway?" Musashi eyed the bizarre snapshots—still pictures of everything from the rice cooker to the view out the window to him being woken up too early on a Sunday morning. "Artistic endeavor?"

Kotaro fiddled with the camera. "Consider it personal journalism."

The hand that Musashi had not previously noticed rubbing trails on Kotaro's shoulders paused. "What?"

"It's our first apartment. I'm recording it for future generations."

The hand continued its ministrations on Kotaro's back as Musashi amusedly contemplated about Kotaro's self-important statement.

"Cute," he said. "What future generations are you talking about exactly?"

Kotaro pressed against his side and didn't offer an answer. After a beat, he looked up, his chin propped on Musashi's chest. Musashi leveled the stare, marveling how he always managed to lose himself in those dark depths. And he felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into them until he was nearly consumed by their blackness. Rescue came in the form of a kiss, a soft peck on his lips. He tightened his hold on Kotaro, pulling the man closer to him, and tasting the salt on Kotaro's lips, he gently deepened the kiss, running his tongue against Kotaro's.

Maybe it had not been such a terrible event to be woken so early and so rudely after all.

Click.

Flash.

Before Musashi could shove the smaller man away as he so wished to do, Kotaro was on his feet beside the strung up pictures, awaiting the last one taken.

"Can you leave the camera alone for even five minutes?" Irritation dripped from each of Musashi's words.

Kotaro finished clipping up the new picture. "Here I thought you weren't very energetic in the morning." His eyes gleamed mischievously. "I haven't taken pictures of the lilacs yet. I'll leave you alone so you can sleep."

Kotaro dissolved into laughter as he barely dodged the pillow thrown at him as he slipped around the curtain that divided the studio room. Musashi growled a little to himself, but on the bright side, he could sleep now. He draped a hand over his eyes and deepened his breathing, moving blearily in and out of consciousness. An hour later, when catnapping became too dissatisfactory to continue, Musashi opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Occasionally, he heard the familiar click of the camera in another part of the apartment, but it was muffled now and more of a background noise.

With a small, amused smile and a shake of his head, Musashi clumsily climbed to his feet. He recognized the scent of food wafting around the curtain, and though food was hardly appetizing this early in the morning, he thought it would be best if he joined Kotaro.

But first—he paused by the pictures, examining each of them with only slight interest. He tugged on the end of the most recent and looked at the picture with a half-smile. In it, he and Kotaro were locked together in a moment none too graceful, but he could still feel the intimacy as they kissed, even with Kotaro's nose bent against his cheeks and with his own hand held in midair as if unsure of what to do. Musashi brushed the pad of his thumb across the glossy impersonation of his lover, caught in a moment Musashi would have never been at liberty to observe before.

"Personal journalism," he mumbled to himself.

His musings were interrupted by someone cursing from the next room, quietly followed by the smell of scorched food.

"Gen? Are you awake yet?" Kotaro failed to conceal his distress.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be there in a second."

One more look was given to the picture, but he just shook his head again, his smile never completely leaving his face. He clipped it back onto the string, between the picture of the neighbor's cat and of a football held in a kicking tee on the roof. He gave it one more good look, as though memorizing every color—the statue-like quality of stealing a second and painting it onto paper—but as he heard another squeak from Kotaro, he turned away and went to the rescue of his lover.

After all, the one in the kitchenette still needed to be captured.

**END**


End file.
